Venus Prime by Paul Preuss - used book

More and more of the grandmasters of science fiction these days are taking part in a collaborative process: usually a theme or idea by a writer such as Isaac Asimov is developed and elaborated by a younger writer. The results can be exhilarating or simply workaday. In Paul Preuss' Arthur C Clarke's Venus Prime, we have the first volume in what promises to be a truly satisfying series, with Preuss adding sweeping imagination and commanding characterisation to the marvellous original concept by the author of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Clarke's story Breaking Strain has been elaborated by Preuss into a narrative that is both a taut thriller and a colourful tale of artificial intelligence. The protagonist Sparta has a mysterious beauty hinting at her hidden past, and she is in possession of abilities greatly beyond those of normal human beings. Sparta is more than human: she is the initial product of advanced biotech engineering. But she has no access to the crucial memories of the last three years that are locked away in her brain. The questions that torment Sparta are: who is she? Why is she on Earth now? The solution seems to lie in her job at Venus station. But what does the crippled space freighter Star Queen have to do with her plight? Sparta's mission becomes the unlocking of this mystery--and considerable danger awaits as she investigates her own past. Like Asimov's The Caves of Steel (to which Clarke alludes in his introduction), this is a cutting-edge synthesis of the crime and SF genres, with both elements feeding vigorously into each other. Occasionally in this kind of cross-genre, there is an uncomfortable shifting of gears--but that is never the case here, with Preuss maintaining a masterful grip on the steadily unfolding revelations. With a special selection of computer-generated blueprints of vehicles and robots, this is definitely a series to follow. Preuss is particularly good at delivering the sting in the final sentence of a paragraph:He was still bent over her. He drew a long hypodermic from his sleeve, a seemingly primitive instrument frightening in its undisguised purpose. He dipped the tip of the barrel in disinfectant in a small clear vial. He felt for the bridge of her nose, pressed his fingers down to widen her nostrils, then carefully, inexorably--watching its progress on the miniature screen--he shoved the long telescoping shaft into her brain.